


Ripping The Velvet

by Beezarre (Dibee)



Category: Holby City
Genre: Depression, F/F, Suicidal Thoughts, With Bernie Elinor and Adrienne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 11:05:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17827403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dibee/pseuds/Beezarre
Summary: Serena faces the reality of the struggle she has ahead of her as she makes her way through France on the first leg of her journey to recovery.A darker take on the ‘Velvet’ prompt for the Weekly Berena Fix.





	Ripping The Velvet

**Author's Note:**

> To all those of us Serena’s struggle with depression resonated with, and to those who wished they could help.
> 
> There’s no happy ending to this story, just hope. Sometimes, hope has to be enough.

Serena looked at herself in the mirror. She hated the woman she saw there, she hated how she looked like her mother. She hated how she felt like her, embittered and cruel. When she heard reproaches she couldn't tell whether it was her daughter or her mother anymore, their voices came together, they mingled and tangled and until all was left was a fog that she couldn't shake off.

 

She was lost. She had run and now she was alone. That's what she had wanted wasn't it, what she deserved.

 

She was alone and yet never truly alone. Her demons were there. They were lurking in the shadows. They were her shadow. And she was nothing but the shadow of herself.

 

She could feel their claws digging into her throat, she could feel their fangs into her aching hear, embedded there as if they’d never left. And they had always been there, dormant, a beast in not quite peaceful slumber.

 

That was how she saw it, a myriad of beasts living inside her, devouring her until all that was left was her shell. It didn't even look like her anymore, she was a pale copy, a ghost. Her daughter had died and she had not survived it.

 

She had thought leaving was the good solution, she had hoped it would be. At least where she was now she couldn't hurt the people who cared, wouldn’t have to face the look in their eyes. She needed the distance, as if running away could appease the loss of her child. Elinor was always with her, always would be. She wished she could get some respite but panicked at losing the slightest bit of her she could still hang on to.

 

She felt empty. She couldn't even feel anymore, only a pain that drilled deep inside her. She didn't want to feel, she didn't want to feel anything, needed to take that burden off her a shoulders, she couldn't breathe. She was too tired to be angry.

 

The world was moving around her, throwing her off balance. It was moving too fast, too loudly, too brightly. The train station was too big and she felt so small. She had almost two hours before her next train. The other station wasn't far.

 

She had packed light, she could walk. The city was alive but all she could do was choke on the car fumes. She walked quickly, feeling the burn in her legs. She was fitter than most people seemed to think.

 

She slalomed between sightseers, ignoring any distraction, she had a goal. One step at a time. First the station, then another train. She’d booked a hotel after that, she wouldn't stay there for long but didn't want to rent a place without seeing it. She needed something quiet, away from people, somewhere she could cry and cry out with no one to hear her.

 

She had picked the south of France although she knew that it wouldn't be that warm at this time of year. She wasn't sure how good her French really was, she hadn't spoken it in years and it showed. She hoped it would be enough, knowing she didn't have the patience to learn any further now. She would have to make do.

  
That was what her life was now, having to make do. She let the air burn her lungs and headed into the station. She heard the announcements but couldn't make anything out. She watched the list of destinations and wondered what would happen if she changed her mind. She could have gone anywhere and somehow it hadn’t even crossed her mind before. She could travel, go far and wide, she was free. Except she wasn't.

 

She remembered Churchill talking about a black dog. She wasn't sure what it was for her. Even her fierce wolf couldn't help. This was a battle she needed to fight alone. She was drowning her grief and she wasn't sure she wanted to learn to swim. What for?

 

A young man was listening to music too loudly next to her. She let her nails dig into her palms and said nothing. She would explode eventually, but not here. She was a wounded animal and needed a nest to hide in. There she could bury herself and forget the rest of the world.

  
The seconds passed and felt like minutes, the minutes passed and felt like hours. She had time now, too much time. She was a ticking time bomb, a flood about to burst through the barriers she had tried to build around herself.

 

She tried to get up from the seat she couldn’t remember sitting on. There was a weight on her shoulders. She was hunched, like an old lady who had lived too many lives. She was too young to be old. If that was how middle age felt like, she wasn’t sure she wanted to witness old age.

 

Her hand flew to her pendant, making it slide across the chain rhythmically, involuntarily matching the music the young man had been listening to. Leading her life at someone else’s rhythm had been a long running habit of hers, and now she wasn’t sure she could find her own again.

 

Right, left. What did she want from life?

 

Right, left. Who did she want in her life?

 

Right, left. What did she need most right now?

 

Right, left, right, left. One foot after the other, she joined the queue to get coffee.

She wasn’t hungry. Everything tasted like ashes, had for a while now, and she suspected train station sandwiches would be no different, if not worse. She got a croissant anyway. She needed to keep her body working, needed that crutch for her broken mind.

 

The croissant felt too greasy, but the sugar made her feel a little better. She only managed to eat half of it, leaving it aside to sip on the coffee. She drank it too soon, too fast. The burn reminded her she was alive. Pain was the only thing that did, these days.

 

She took her phone out of her pocket and stared at her lock screen. Bernie. Or more specifically, Bernie holding a puppy. That was the cutest picture she had on her phone, the one thing she knew swiping away would remind her that her healing needed to be done away from her partner, without needing to forget how supportive she was, in any way she could.

 

She put her phone back in her pocket and stared at the pigeon that was coming closer. It was no Icarus, but it reminded her of that evening. Bernie had thought she was going to jump. There had been dark times, so dark she’d thought she’d been blinded for good, but that had never been something she had considered.

 

A few years before she would have thought it was because she wasn’t brave enough. But it wasn’t a question of bravery. It was about caring. She no longer cared about herself, knew she was in no state to care for others, not even those she cared most about, but deep down she still wanted to be useful.

 

She could sacrifice herself a thousand times over, but that was a sacrifice that would have no purpose. Possibly, too, part of her thought she deserved the pain she was in. It was her burden to bear. By making it end, she would be passing it on and the people likely to shoulder it deserved better. Maybe she hadn’t gotten to that point yet.

 

She tugged on her collar, she couldn’t breathe. She closed her eyes, tried counting to ten, and opened it again to see the pigeon had edged closer. She hesitated whether or not to offer the rest of her croissant, before thinking better of it. She didn’t want to be swarmed by rabid pigeons. She had her own demons to fight off.

 

She got up when her train was announced, joining the pressing mass of people, letting the crowd carry her, feeling almost protected by her state of mind. That was it. It wasn’t just beasts. On her shoulders was a heavy cloak, with a large hood covering her eyes. A velvet soft to the touch, beautiful enough that people who didn’t know her couldn’t tell, but heavy like lead.

 

It wrapped around her like a possessive lover, choking yet caressing. It was beautiful in its darkness. It was familiar. It was a perfect fit. Under the cloak she was raw, the cuts and bruises rotting in the darkness. She suddenly felt small, lost.

 

She hoped the cloak would catch in the door of the train as it closed. That’s what she needed, ripping the velvet, making holes in the fabric so she could breathe again, shortening it so she wouldn’t trip, lifting the hood so she could see more clearly. Shedding it once she could set herself free.

 

She squared her shoulders and climbed up the couple steps to the wagon. She would wear it threadbare if she had to, but she would rip it to shreds, watch them burn and scatter those ashes where they couldn’t catch up with her.

 

For now the best she could do was take comfort in the softness of the velvet, of the protection it provided from questing gazes. It was a poison, but it kept her cheeks rosy and her eyes dry.

 

The sun shone through the train windows unexpectedly. She let it warm her, a warmth the train’s heating system couldn’t match. The cloak lifted, just a little. Closing her eyes and resting her head against the cold window she started picking at a thread. She was a long way from ripping the velvet still, and such a long way from home…

**Author's Note:**

> To those of you struggling right now:  
> It can, and will, get better.  
> It’s not your fault.  
> Be kind to yourself.  
> It’s okay to need help.  
> It’s okay to reach out.  
> It’s okay to be you.  
> It’s worth being you a while longer.  
> Be safe, and take care. <3


End file.
